A few yahz ago I listened to Charlotte and Caroline all the way from London to Edinburgh, telling the entire train carriage about their final exams, their friend Marcus, the wonderful buhk that Char (or was it Car?) was reading, and Car’s (or was it Char’s?) mahvellous new job in New York. I wonder how it went.

They’re scrupulous people, the air police:
Meticulous, careful, and fair police.
No point to contest
Any air force arrest,
So never say, “I wasn’t there, police.”

This message brought to you by your friendly neighborhood APs.

A bird on the wing met a slight
Irritation while trying for height:
“This calamitous fog
Left my chest all a-clog!
But my air sacs are keeping me light.”

To ensure I can stretch out my feet,
I secure, when I’m booking, a seat
By the aeroplane’s aisle.
Tall passengers smile
When their knees and the tray don’t compete.

Lookee there: it’s ol’ Jimmy, ajog!
All the neighbours are watching, agog.
There he goes, out the gate,
Down the street, and—no, wait.
Mister Fixx has dropped dead as a log.

Jim Fixx, author of the book that started the jogging crazeof the 1970s, died of a heart attack while jogging.